


a good thing, indeed

by lexicalbehemoth (lyricalleviathan)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 00:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19896730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalleviathan/pseuds/lexicalbehemoth
Summary: They went to visit exhibitions sometimes, once the Armageddon-That-Wasn't passed them by. Most of the time, Crowley liked to spend his hours watching Aziraphale appreciating the pieces-and other times, he found his angel in the pieces themselves.





	a good thing, indeed

**Author's Note:**

> [ [ Russian Translation](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8466620) ]

“It’s uncanny, really.”

“Uncanny,” parroted Aziraphale, right before he gave his vanilla ice cream a bite. Crowley looked to him, remembering humanity’s jokes of people being demon spawn for biting into their ice cream with their front teeth, and stifled a snort of amusement. “What is?”

“That exhibit we’d just visited. Or, at least that one piece from it.”

“Alphonse Mucha’s?”

“That exact one,” said Crowley. He bit off a chunk of his strawberry lolly, grimacing a little at the cold seeping into his teeth. He said, “You’d think the man was visited often by an angel, given his choice in imagery.”

“Well,” Aziraphale hummed. He preened, smile chipper, and Crowley was willing to bet that his wings, had they been visible, would be fluffing up in satisfaction. He’s the kind that’s easy to read, really- with  _ or _ without the 6000 years of their relationship in his arsenal. “That’s kind of you to say; I do agree that his works evoke a sense of divine beauty.”

“You ever met him?” he asked.

“Oh, perhaps once or twice,” admitted Aziraphale. He took a delicate bite from the flake in his ice cream cone, chewed, then swallowed- every movement catalogued and recognized by Crowley as the motions his angel goes through right before he shares a story. “He took me out for a drink that first time, lovely man.”

Crowley made a noise of interest. “Oh?”

“Mm, yes,” Aziraphale nodded, “it was one of those days, when he had enough to spare for a drink with an acquaintance. He listened to me talk, and he was so very attentive- it’s no wonder he does well with details. Why, I was even lucky enough to have him show me some of his sketches!” His smile was bright, creases in the corners of his eyes and laugh lines showing off his vessel’s age, and Crowley found himself ridiculously fond. It’s true, what they say, about loving the look of passion in someone’s face; excitement suited Aziraphale, turned his eyes bright and soft and warm all at once.

“Did he show you what he worked on for you?”

Aziraphale blinked at him. It’s a deliberate motion, a very human one. He said, “Pardon?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. He took the time to finish off his lolly (it wasn't that hard, when one's maw, for all that it's human, still had some snake-like qualities) and throw away the remaining stick, before he said, "Angel, surely you noticed him sketching your visage. You can’t be  _ that _ obtuse.”

“Well, how would you know, my dear? You weren’t there, last I recall,” retorted Aziraphale, right before he licked off more from his ice cream. “Though, if he did do so…my, that would have been nice to see. What made you think he’d drawn me?”

“You truly passed this one by, didn’t you.” Crowley sighed as he pulled out his phone, swiping through his gallery until he found the photo he was looking for. “This one, angel,” he said, handing off his phone to him, “surely you see the similarity?”

On his phone screen was a cut-off portion of a bigger mural, showing off a long-haired blonde in a white dress and pink bodice, caught with an expression of surprise on her cherubic and very,  _ very _ familiar face. Aziraphale squinted for a moment at it, not so much due to bad eyesight as it were scrutiny, then hummed his curiosity. He said, having handed Crowley his phone back, “It does bear some resemblance. How did you catch this one? I hadn’t noticed it…”

“After 6000 years, it’d be embarrassing of me to not recognize your face wherever I see it.” He paused, then said, “It’s fascinating, in truth- I’ve seen your face in various other artists’ works before, not just Mucha’s. It’s,” he trailed off, smiling wickedly at the shifty look on Aziraphale’s face, “rather curious, angel. You’ve been around, it would seem.”

Aziraphale huffed his disagreement at his teasing, mouth half-hidden by his ice cream cone. “You make it sound tawdry, putting it like that. I didn’t ask to be drawn by any of them; it’s far too much trouble than it’s worth.”

“Is it? I rather think it’s a worthwhile venture, preserving your image for posterity.” Crowley smiled cheerily, a tad too brightly to actually be sincere, “A divine image to inspire goodness! She should be proud.”

“Oh, now you’re just mocking me,” argued Aziraphale, lips pressed together in that way it does when he’s less than satisfied with Crowley. “I think it’s nice of them! Putting all that time and effort into drawing me-”

“I was sincere.”

Aziraphale closed his mouth mid-speech, opened it, closed it, then opened it again. “Were you?”

Crowley sighed, putting in as much effort to sound put upon as he none too subtly rested a hand on the middle of Aziraphale’s back. He said, somewhat softer than intended, “Yes, I was. Perhaps I’d been teasing a bit, but, well.” He shrugged lamely. “I do like the ones who captured your likeness well.” To himself, he thought of how much he understood the desire to put Aziraphale’s visage to paper, committing it to memory in a way the human brain couldn’t in old-age. He didn’t have that problem with his memory, thankfully, but he  _ did _ understand the desire.

But he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

Obviously.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said gently, warmly, and oh.

His angel didn’t bother to be subtle as he leaned into Crowley’s side, looking for all the world like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. He smiled at him, that twinkly-eyed smile he does whenever he’s pleased with him, and Crowley’s heart- because it exists, for all that his vessel is housing a demonic soul- ached.

“I suppose humans have to make do,” he said, mouth dry, “given that they have no other way to keep you.”

Aziraphale hummed, smiling still.

“A good thing, then, that you won’t need to miracle up any skills in the arts.”

Crowley laughed.

_ A good thing, indeed. _

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for taking the time to read this!! any comments would be much appreciated- if you liked this fic, if there's anything you'd like me to correct, just let me know! 💜 please know as well that I am not entirely familiar with Alphonse Mucha, and am only Making Stuff Up for the sake of fiction lol
> 
> this was also inspired by [ this quote RT from Michael](https://twitter.com/michaelsheen/status/1152358215709057024?s=19), if anyone's curious! Please feel free to peruse [my twitter](https://twitter.com/lexicalbehemoth?s=09) as well, if you'd like 😊


End file.
